


You Didn't See That Coming?

by alexjanna91



Series: Dean Winchester, Patron Saint (Apple Pie Life) [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Powers, Gen, Post-Season/Series 05, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjanna91/pseuds/alexjanna91
Summary: When he finally gets his answers, Dean’s surprised how not surprised he actually is. Between the weird heavenly powers, the way the angels, kids, and other random people have been throwing reverent vibes his way, he gotta admit, he should have seen it coming.





	You Didn't See That Coming?

**Author's Note:**

> Last installment in the [Dean Winchester, Patron Saint](https://archiveofourown.org/series/147576) arc of the Apple Pie Life verse.

Cas didn’t look good. His hair was less windblown and more dried after a swirly. His tie wasn’t just backwards it was coming undone and hanging on his neck lopsided. His trench coat’s collar was wrinkled and crooked. His face looked drawn, exhausted, there were shadows under his eyes and his cheeks looked thin. 

Considering his human appearance was just a vessel, an ad salesman named Jimmy, and Cas had been shot, stabbed, blown up twice, and literally flown to Hell and back, the fact that he looked anything other than whole and healthy was alarming. 

Dean had the inexplicable urge to wrap him in a blanket and make him a mug of hot chocolate. For all that Cas was supposed to be this mighty, cosmically powerful Angel of the Lord, the New Sheriff in Town, he looked like he wouldn’t put up much of fight if Dean actually followed through on the urge. 

“What happened, Cas?”

“Raphael ordered an attack on the prison, presumably to release the angels held there. They nearly made it through.” A heavy breath left him and Dean just got more worried. “We lost soldiers. More than we should have.” 

“All that just to keep you busy,” Dean muttered darkly. “So that Raphael could come and kill me.”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped further and he nodded. “So it would seem.” 

At one time Dean would have felt guilty. All those angels, Cas’s angels needlessly dying just so some jumped-up asshat could take a shot at him. He would have felt crippling guilt. Now though, he felt angry. A slow burning, volcanic anger that would level everything in sight when it finally erupted. 

Raphael was messing with Dean’s friend, someone welded into his heart like only his kids and his family is. Cas was Dean’s angel and by rights that made Cas’s angels his as well. Nobody messed with what was his. 

“What do you need me to do, Cas?”

Eyes snapped up from staring blankly at his hanging hands, Castiel saw that look on Dean’s face. The look he had when he killed the Whore of Babylon and Zachariah. The look he wore specially for his enemies when he was about to kill them all and let somebody else sort them out. 

A frisson of fear cracked through him. Dean had done the impossible before, but the thought of him taking on half the Host, leaving his hard-won peace and marching on the front lines in a heavenly war, it terrified Castiel. He jerked his head sharply and frowned in warning. “You can’t, Dean. There is nothing you can do.”

“Bullshit, Cas.” Dean frowned back, stubborn as always. “You’re my friend. Your angels are my friends. This ninja turtle bitch is messing with my friends. Nobody messes with my friends, but me.” 

For a moment warmth swamped the fear inside Castiel, but he couldn’t let his pleasure at Dean’s possessive claim distract him from the matter at hand. 

“Dean, the last holy war, the Purging of the Nephilim, ended in untold devastation on Earth as well as in Heaven. This, all these attacks from Raphael are just the first small skirmishes in the much larger conflict coming.”

Breathing through his nose frustrated, Dean leaned back in his seat and rubbed a palm over his face. “I don’t like it, Cas. I don’t like this bitch attacking you. I don’t like your angels dying. I really fucking don’t like sitting back and doing nothing!” 

“I know, Dean,” Castiel responded softly attempting to soothe him. “But for now there is nothing any of us can do, except wait.” 

Dean didn’t look soothed at all, but he didn’t argue again. Instead he asked, “Did it at least help at all when I kicked Raphael’s ass yesterday?”

An awed, bewildered smile broke through Castiel’s so serious expression. “You should not have been able to do that, but yes, Dean. Raphael has pulled back for the time being. We have some breathing room now.” 

A crease appeared on Castiel’s brow, a contemplative look coming over his face, he added, “Several angels have defected to join us. It’s sent ripples through the ranks. Your name is being whispered through the Host again.” 

Eyebrow rising in surprise, “Is that good or bad?” Dean asked dubiously.

“It’s,” Castiel hesitated, thinking over his words trying to decide how to describe the feelings now coursing through Heaven. “It’s been provoking questions.” 

“So,” Dean drawled, “Reply hazy, ask again later.”

Head tilting in confusion, Castiel figured it was just another human thing he didn’t understand. “Yes, it is uncertain as yet.”

An amused smile quirked on Dean’s lips, then he pushed himself to stand. “Well, you got some more non-dickish angels on your side. That’s something at least.” He pointed a finger at Cas and offered, “You want a beer or something?”

Relieved the conversation seemed to be over, Castiel inquired, “Do you have the beverage, Dr. Pepper? Samandriel has mentioned it several times.” 

Chuckling, Dean disappeared inside the fridge digging around the contents. “That kid is getting addicted to the stuff.”

Castiel caught the cold can tossed his way and popped the tab one handed releasing a carbonated hiss. “Samandriel is older than the Earth itself, Dean.”

“Still doesn’t know the difference between a miniaturized reptilian carnivore and a toy dinosaur. He’s a kid.” Dean gave Cas a pointed look. 

“Ah.” Castiel fidgeted with the metal tab on his soda can, “Yes, I am aware of the misunderstanding with Errol’s birthday present. I can return the creature to its time if you want.” 

Rolling his eyes with a fully amused smile on his lips, Dean shook his head and took a long drink of his beer. “Don’t worry about it. We got it a tank and the kids have been feeding it live mice. Been treating it as a science experiment and nobody’s lost a finger yet. No harm, no foul.” 

Shoulder’s relaxing Castiel took a sip of his fizzy brown drink and enjoyed the burning of the carbonation in his mouth. 

“You gonna be able to stick around a while?” Dean asked hopefully, moving around the couch to reclaim his armchair. 

Castiel opened his mouth to answer when a heavy pounding knock came from the front door. 

Glancing at the clock, Dean’s face hardened in suspicion. It was eleven o’clock at night. A knock that late in the evening meant nothing good. 

Setting his beer down, he slipped his hand under his plaid shirt at his back and gripped his gun. Walking to the door, he noticed Cas’s soda was gone and his slivery angel sword was gripped ready in his hand.

Dean had his hand the handle about to peek outside when the pounding came again this time followed by a grumpy impatient, “Open the damn door, Dean! I’ve been driving for two days straight and I ain’t gonna stand out here all night!” 

Tension melting from his frame, Dean’s hand left his gun to twist the deadbolt unlocking the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cas’s sword was once again hidden and replaced by his soda can. 

Swinging the door open, Dean leaned against the doorframe casually and smirked at the grouchy hunter. “Hey Bobby, what brings to this neck of the woods?”

Rolling his eyes, Bobby stepped up, shoved his 6 foot 1 inch, 200 pound pain in the ass out of the way and lugged his duffle bag inside. “’Bout time. I need a damn beer.”

“Hello to you, too, Bobby,” Dean muttered sarcastically, closing and locking the door behind him. “I’m doing great. How are you?”

Stomping into the living room Bobby didn’t even pause when he saw Dean’s angel standing there with a Dr. Pepper in his hand. “Oh, good, you’re here. You need to see this too.” 

Alarms going off in his mind, Dean yanked his head out of the fridge where he’d been digging out Bobby’s demanded beer. “‘Oh, good, he’s here’? Why is that good? What’s going on, Bobby?”

Dropping onto the couch all his grumpy energy suddenly seeping out of him, Bobby sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair under his hat then straightening it again. The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew serious again and Dean felt dread building in his chest. 

Bobby took the beer Dean offered and met his worried green gaze. “You know how you been doing all this weird shit? And so far we’ve got jack shit trying to figure out why?”

“Yeah,” Dean drawled warily. “Cas’s been looking into it every free moment he’s got.” 

“Unfortunately, I have been unable to discovery anything to explain the changes Dean is going through,” Castiel admitted with guilty displeasure, standing stiffly facing the two hunters looking at him. “It has been very difficult to search for answers while Raphael attacks us from all sides.” 

“Not your fault, Cas,” Dean absolved him with characteristic understanding before he turned back to Bobby. “You found something, Bobby?”

A complicated expression flashed over the older hunter’s face before it smoothed out and he was all business. “I’ve been looking for answers,” he agreed as he leaned down and unzipped his duffle pulling out a beat up folder then a plastic protected sheet of really old looking paper. “And I think I’ve found them.”

Suddenly, Castiel was hovering over the coffee table where Bobby had dropped the ancient document and stared at it with a mixture of incredulity and wonder. “Where did you find this? The Library of Alexandria was destroyed by demons over two centuries before the Christ Child was even born.”

Curious, Dean pulled the plastic wrapped papyrus toward him and studied it. He looked back up at the older hunter deadpan. “I don’t read ancient Egyptian, Bobby. You wanna spell it out for me?”

“It’s Aramaic, ya idjit,” Bobby scolded Dean. Then he responded to the angel, unimpressed with his demanding tone. “Got a friend in Japan that owed me a few favors. She found it in a hidden room in the Taj Mahal.” 

Cas looked almost insulted that an grouchy old hunter was able to find a long lost 3,000 year old Holy Scripture and he and his angels have been digging up little more than dirt.

“So what does it say?” Dean pressed, dropping the apparent scripture back on the coffee table ignoring the squeak of protest from Cas. “It tell you what the hell is happening to me? How to reverse it?”

Not that he really wanted to get rid of the freaky powers. He’d accepted that his life was always going to have a certain level of weird. Being able to see angels’ true forms, feel their emotions, and bitch slap douchebags around wasn’t exactly a hardship. Once the migraines stopped and he’d got a measure of control the powers had actually been pretty damn useful. 

Bobby hesitated and another fission of worry arced through Dean. He may have been getting used to the powers, but that didn’t been they weren’t a symptom of something greater, something worse. And Bobby had his “shit’s about to get real” face on. Not a good face. 

“From what I could translate,” Bobby started, taking a deep steadying breath, “the things you’ve been doing, the unexplainable stuff that’s been happening to you? You’re Transcending.”

“What,” Dean asked warily, “exactly is ‘transcending’?”

“Of course,” Castiel murmured in awe turning his fathomless blue eyes on Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword, the Righteous Man. His friend. “How could I have not seen it?”

Dean shifted a little uncomfortable with the return of Cas’s intense stare. “Bobby?” He looked to the hunter questioning.

“According to this manuscript, Transcending is exactly what it sounds like,” the older hunter said not exactly unhelpfully, but he continued ignoring Dean’s scowl. “You’re Transcending humanity, becoming something more. All the powers you been getting, they’re just a part of what you’re becoming.” 

“What I’m becoming?” Dean repeated alarmed. “I’m not human?”

“No, Dean,” Castiel interrupted before he could have a full blown panic. “That is not exactly an accurate translation. You are becoming more, but you are still human. It is a Transcendence of the soul, not of the body.” 

That didn’t necessarily make him feel any better. He’d never seen anything good come out of messing with souls. 

“That still doesn’t tell me what is actually happening to me,” Dean protested. “I’m Transcending, great. What does that _mean_?”

Bobby frowned down at the papyrus in concentration trying to translate the Aramaic descriptions into a suitably comprehensive English. 

“From what I can figure it describes Transcendence as, ‘The soul of a mortal man shall shed the mien of Earthly trappings and Ascend to a being of Heavenly Grace and be Hallow of his flock.’” 

“‘Hallow of his flock’,” Dean repeated dubiously. “Still not getting it.” 

Huffing in exasperation, Bobby snapped, “Damnit, boy! Hallow! You know, Halloween? All Hallows Eve? What comes after All Hallows Eve?”

“Uh,” Dean blinked still clueless, “All Saints’ Day?”

Bobby just looked at him expectantly, waiting impatiently for Dean to connect the dots. 

It took a second, but the lightbulb visibly flicked on and Dean’s eyes widened incredulously. “No.” 

Bobby just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“There’s no way,” Dean protested shaking his head. “First of all I don’t have a flock and second don’t saints have to be canonized by the Vatican or something?”

“Souls have been Transcending to Sainthood since long before the Catholic Church was establish,” Castiel informed them. “One can be Sainted by the Church and Ascend that way, but many go unknown and reach Transcendence through their own evolution.” 

Dean flicked his gaze back and forth between his friend and adoptive father. “But a flock. I can’t be a saint, I don’t have a flock,” he pointed out weakly. 

“Do you not?” Castiel inquired knowingly.

“No, I don’t,” Dean denied. 

“Your kids, Dean.”

Snapping a warning look back to Bobby, “What about my kids?”

“They flock to you,” Bobby responded and got an unimpressed glare for his trouble. “You have over a dozen kids following you around damn near 24/7. They feel comfortable with you. They feel safe with you. You protect them like they were your own. I ain’t never seen a man with the kinda connection you have with those kids.” 

Meeting his unreadable gaze, Bobby said, “Those kids practically worship you, Dean.”

Jaw clenched tight, Dean gripped the arms of his chair white-knuckled, more protests caught behind his teeth. Every one of Bobby’s words deafeningly resonated like church bells inside him, and he couldn’t bring himself to deny the truth of them. He’s felt it coming off his kids every time he was around them. The comfort and trust and happiness radiating out of them when they gathered to him, trailed behind him. When he helped them, protected them, made their lives better. 

“Saints are meant to protect, nurture, heal,” Castiel spoke into the pause, voice deep and solemn. “They provide guidance not just spiritually, but earthly as well. A Saint’s charges are drawn to them, look up to them. Have utter faith in them.” The angel looked into Dean’s eyes and saw the whispers of fear holding him back, but the brightly shining hope as well.

“The children aren’t the only ones you have an effect on.”

Brow wrinkled in confusion, Dean shook his head. “Who else could I possibly have that kind of power over?”

Bobby and Castiel shared a look. “Little bothers,” Bobby answered softly. “You have a way with little brothers.” 

“Well, yeah, but that’s not-” Dean didn’t finish as memories started rise inside his mind. Vague, half-forgotten puzzling interactions started to make sense. 

The principal at Jeremy’s school. He said Dean reminded him of his older brother, that Dean gave him the push to stand up for himself again. 

And Owen, Shelly’s wounded, near broken little brother. Dean remembered the impulse to help him, fix him, to _heal_ him. He had literally taken Owen’s torturous emotions in his hands and melted the pain away.

Dean thought about Sam. 

The breath was knocked out of him with the sudden punch of acceptance. “Yeah,” he inhaled shakily. “Yeah, I-I can see that.”

“That’s not all,” Castiel admitted with a hesitant look on his face. 

Dean turned wide disbelieving eyes on the angel. “What do you mean, ‘That’s not all’?”

“Angels-” Castiel started. 

“Okay, now that’s just going too far.”

“Angels,” Castiel continued as if Dean hadn’t interrupted, “we are drawn to you. Not since Jesus of Nazareth has a human had such sway over us.”

Dean looked alarmed by that, but Castiel forged on. 

“You can see our true forms, feel our emotions and intent, adopt some of our abilities. You have the power to physically restrain us with a thought, to cast us back to Heaven by your will alone.”

Even Bobby seemed taken aback, but he realized it wasn’t really that surprising either. 

Angels have been following Dean around like clueless, eager to please puppies. Even before the freaky powers showed up the boy’s had an odd pull on the angels. Castiel rebelled for him. Gabriel died for him. Hell, even Anna, a fallen angel, had been drawn to him. 

But of course nothing having to do with the Winchesters could be simple. Dean just had to go the extra mile and develop literal angel whispering powers. 

Dean for his part was trying to wrap his head around it all. Any protests and denials were just reflex, he knew. What Cas and Bobby were telling him, he could feel down to his bones that it was right. That angels, little brother, kids; they were his flock. 

He could understand kids, how they thought, how they felt, as if he was reading them like a book. The compulsive need to care for anyone he knew was a younger brother (and those he didn’t, he was just realizing now). He just seemed to connect with little brothers. 

Michael and his little brother Asher, the kids from the shtriga hunt, came to mind. The way Shelly hadn’t interfered when he started conversationally poking at Owen’s triggers. Even older siblings trusted him with their little brothers.

And the angels. They were probably the most undeniable elements in all this. He couldn’t deny that he had a strong influence over them. Alfie, Inias, Hester, and Rachel, not to mention Cas, they all showed him some level of reverence. Listened to him, followed his direction, trusted him to take care of them, had _faith_ in him. The epic smack down he had with Raphael was perhaps the largest demonstration of the power he held over the angels. 

He closed his eyes for a long moment and just let these revelations settle deep inside him. 

“Okay,” he was almost surprised by just how okay he was with all this. It felt instinctive and now that he knew he was going to use everything in his apparently not inconsiderable power to do right by his charges. To protect his flock from anyone stupid enough to try and hurt them. And God have mercy on the bastards because he won’t. 

“So, kids, little brothers and angels.” He decided to own it and flashed one of his confident, mischievous grins. “I’m the saint of kids, little brothers, and angels. Must be Thursday.” 

“Patron Saint.”

“What?” Dean turned to see Cas still watching him just as intensely as before. 

“You’re a Patron Saint,” Cas repeated as if it should have been obvious. 

“What’s the difference?” Dean asked resigned that the curve balls will keep on coming. 

“Patron Saints can freely move between the realms.” 

“Oh, of course,” Dean nodded mock obviously. “’Cause that makes perfect sense.” 

“Apparently for Patron Saints it does,” Bobby tossed in, being unhelpful again. 

Rubbing roughly at his face, Dean leaned forward elbows on his knees and stared annoyed at the papyrus innocently lying on the coffee table. 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Dean muttered. “My life’s just that weird.” 

He looked up with a wry exasperated quirk to his smile “Dean Winchester, Patron Saint of Little Brothers, Lost Angels, and Smartass Kids.”

“You Winchesters,” Bobby agreed dryly, “always up to your neck in something.” He took a large gulp of his beer and saluted Dean with a fond smirk. “Probably shoulda seen that one coming.”

All he got for his sage commentary was very unappreciative scowling and flipped a double bird. 

*  
End.


End file.
